


Love At First Snap

by CuriousThimble



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Groom alistair, Modeling, Modern AU, Multi, No Smut, fashion photos, wedding photos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:08:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21813451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousThimble/pseuds/CuriousThimble
Summary: When Alistair is strong-armed into modeling for a fashion magazine, he's more than a little overwhelmed by the experience.
Relationships: Alistair/Original Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Love At First Snap

**Author's Note:**

> Just a silly little idea I ran with over the weekend (unbeated, so be gentle with me!), I hope you enjoy!

He wasn't a model. He was a football player. This was stupid.

Alistair tugged at his collar, uncomfortable in a shirt at least a size too small, and looked nervously at his agent. "Teagan, really?" he asked again. "Why do the Wardens want _me_ to do this?"

Teagan sipped his fancy Starkhaven brew and gave Alistair a tired look. "Because you're new to the team, you're young and handsome, and you’ll improve ticket sales. PR hopes that putting you in a magazine like _Enchantment_ will get some interest in a female audience-” he paused in the middle of the same speech he’s been repeating since the day before and looked at Alistair as if he had suddenly grown a second head. “Why are you upset about it? You're going to be partnered with one of the most gorgeous women in the world."

Alistair sipped his own coffee and grumbled to himself. _That's exactly why I'm upset about it,_ he thought. _I'm going to look like an idiot._

"You aren't going to look like an idiot," Teagan assured him, reading his mind. "No matter how many times you say it out loud."

He might have mentioned it once, _twice_ at most, and Teagan’s teasing didn’t sit well with him all of a sudden. "Why did I hire you again?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at him.

"Because I make people rich, and I happen to be your uncle."

"Ah."

The car finally arrived at the studio- a plain square building that didn't look nearly as grand as he'd expected. Somehow he’d thought a magazine as huge as _Enchanment_ would have a building like...a castle, maybe? Something beautiful and distinctly female, he guessed. Following Teagan inside, he tugged at his collar again and hoped they could edit out sweat stains. 

They were met by a pretty brunette with a sour face at the door. "Teagan and...Alistair?" she asked, checking a note on her clipboard. "You're late."

"Traffic," Teagan offered with a charming smile. "Can't beat it, you know."

"Truly," she drawled, arching an eyebrow at them. "Follow me." The woman turned on her heel and started down a hallway, her shoes making a sharp click on the tile as Alistair hurried to follow. "My name is Morrigan," she said over her shoulder without pausing. "I am the fashion department assistant and will be helping to run the shoot. Any questions you might have, come to me, do not bother anyone else. They will be busy working."

“Won’t _you_ be busy, too?” Alistair asked.

Morrigan shot him a sharp, golden-eyed look that made Alistair feel like she could see straight into his soul. “Yes, but _you_ happen to be my work.”

"You said there would be other athletes as well, correct?" Teagan asked as they passed through a set of double doors and into another hallway. 

"Yes, Aveline Vallen and The Iron Bull."

Alistair stopped short. Aveline Vallen was a famous soccer player- she'd just brought the World Cup home to Ferelden for the fifth year in a row. The Iron Bull was basically Mr. Universe, but bigger and a lot cooler. Did they need PR help? Or were they trying to broaden their audience, too? "What kind of picture is this?" he asked.

Morrigan whirled around and pinned him with her eyes again. "It's a spread," she said. "Half the issue is devoted to it, each of you have _ten pages._ Haven't you been told anything?"

Alistair had to make himself not squirm under her gaze. "Not...not really."

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Nearly relaxed and silent, he could see she was _very_ pretty, but he was sure her attitude made it hard for her to get a date with anyone. "Fine," she said calmly. "This is a prominent spread, full of haute couture by designers you'll probably have never heard of-"

"Excuse us!"

Alistair presses himself against the wall just in time to see a gorgeous woman with black hair and legs for days race past with a pretty red-head in tow. Were all the women here going to be beautiful? Maker's breath, he hoped so.

"Hera! You're _late!_ " Morrigan screeched. "Again!"

"Traffic!" the woman said over her shoulder. "Can't talk, Zev's waiting! Left your coffee on your desk!"

"Josephine's already here," Morrigan called after her.

"Thank you! We’ll find her!"

"Who was that?" Alistair asked, watching her skitter around a corner on spikey little heels. _And can I follow her?_

Morrigan pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "That would be your modeling partner, Hera. Yes, I know, she's _gorgeous_ ," she added in a bored tone.

Teagan chuckled at the sneer hiding in her words. "I take it you've heard it before?"

"Literally everyone in this studio is aware of how lovely she is," Morrigan said with a sniff. " _And_ how lovely a person she is as well. We do our best not to hate her for being perfect."

"Generous of you," Alistair snorted.

With another sigh, Morrigan starts walking again, following the path Hera had taken. "Come along."

****

Alistair was measured by a rather handsy girl named Bethany, scolded for having broad shoulders- something he never expected- by a villainous-looking wardrobe head named Dorian, and then plunked into a chair in a bright makeup room and completely forgotten for a quarter of an hour. But at least he wasn't alone- Aveline Vallen was there, pacing the room behind him in the mirror. 

"Nervous?" he asked, watching her in the mirror.

Aveline flinched and looked at him as if she'd only noticed he was there. "Oh," she said with a little laugh. "Yes, I am. Sorry, I'm Aveline Vallen," she said and offered a hand.

He whirled around in his chair and took it eagerly. "I know," he said. "You're famous! That third game in the World Cup series was amazing!"

She blushed, laughing, and sat in the chair opposite him. "You look familiar, too," she said, relaxing a bit. "You play for the Gray Wardens, don't you?"

"Alistair Theirin," he supplied. "New recruit."

"And one of the best players at Denerim U!" says a loud, booming voice that rattles the mirrors. "I saw you play against Antiva City your senior year!"

A dark-skinned man the size of a food truck ducks through the door and slaps Alistair on the shoulder. He was totally bald and had an eyepatch. "You were amazing!" 

Aveline laughed and Alistair blushed, realizing that this is _exactly_ what he'd just done to her. "Thank you," he mumbled.

"The Iron Bull, I presume?" Aveline asked, offering a hand. Her eyes widened when his hand completely covered her own.

"That's me," he said, grinning. "Aveline Vallen. Damn me, you're the best soccer player I've ever seen."

"Thank you very much."

The door opened and in walked a petite woman dressed in all black wearing an apron. "Oh good, you've all met," she said in a thick accent. "My name is Merrill, I'm one of the makeup artists you'll be working with today-" With a flinch, she let out a surprised "squawk" as a handsome blonde man with tattoos on his face followed her into the room. "Zevran! You beast!" she laughed, smacking his arm. 

The man grinned charmingly and grabbed her hand, placing a kiss on her delicate fingertips. "Amore, I apologize," he said huskily, rocking his hips in her direction. "I cannot help myself when you are near. That is a backside that simply _must_ be pinched at least once a day."

Merrill blushed and shooed him away with an embarrassed smile. "Go on you," she scolded gently. "This is Zevran, he's the other artist. Now, are we ready?"

***

Wearing enough makeup he felt like his face would crack, Alistair and the others followed Morrigan from the makeup room to a large room that reminded him of a warehouse. Inside were a dozen different scenes set up: a small bistro table and two chairs with a backdrop of Val Royeaux; a bed piled with silk and velvet pillows and blankets made to look like some kind of lover's nest; a wall made up of nothing but roses and vines. It was a little overwhelming.

"Maker's breath," he said softly, staring. "It's like being everywhere at once."

"Indeed," Morrigan said, checking her clipboard. "Leliana, is Hera ready? I have her slotted with Fenris."

The red-head that had run past them earlier appears at Morrigan's elbow, a cup of coffee in hand, and snorted. “How pissed off was Thom when he saw that you gave her to Fenris? You know he’s a little in love with her.”

Morrigan replied with her own snort. “When Thom Rainier becomes my employer he can make his _own_ assignments. Wynne wanted her with Fenris, so that’s what I arranged. Now, where is she?”

“Dorian is finishing her up," Leliana says, taking a sip. "Shall I go get her?"

"No need," they hear. If the sprinting model had been beautiful before, she was damn near perfect now. Her black hair was artfully piled atop her head, little wisps falling to frame her face, drawing the eye to her violet eyes framed by heavy lashes. He didn't know anything about makeup- were those really her lashes? Did they make fake ones?

And she was dressed in a wedding gown. It was white and sparkling with a big skirt that rustled as she moved closer. 

"Wow," Aveline whispered.

"Damn," Bull said approvingly. "Woman, you are… Beautiful doesn’t seem like a strong enough word."

The model smiled brightly, eyes twinkling. "Thank you. My name is Hera," she said, introducing herself to each of them. When she got to Alistair, her smile was partnered with a playful wink. "I understand you're to be my groom."

"G-Groom?" Alistair choked. No one said anything about a wedding.

"For the pictures," she explained, laughing softly. "Don't get cold feet on me now."

"I- ah- well-"

"Alistair, when you're done mumbling at her, please go to Dorian so he can dress you," Morrigan ordered, waving to someone on the far side of the warehouse. "We have quite a lot to accomplish today."

Stomach churning, he made his way to the wardrobe closet and found Dorian. "I was-"

"Sent here to be dressed," Dorian said. He had a mustache that reminded Alistair of an old rock star but didn't change the cloak-and-dagger impression Alistair first had of him. “Here’s your tux, don’t dawdle.”

Aveline followed Bethany into the room not long after and he watched in amazement as the soccer player went behind a screen looking like herself and came out of it looking like- well, a model. She had been dressed in a solid black suit and a not-quite-white shirt with a little ruffle on the front. He guessed it was the tailoring, but it all made her look tall and statuesque- a word he'd read but hadn't ever really thought it applied to anyone before.

"A pin, maybe?" Bethany murmured, turning to Dorian. "Where's that diamond star? The one from Tevinter."

Dorian waved a hand toward a table covered in filmy white veils. “Under there,” he mumbled around a mouthful of pins. He continued to mutter under his breath as he tucked and pinned Alistair’s tuxedo around his waist, trying to hide the small ways it wasn’t a perfect fit.

“Dorian?” Morrigan’s tone was syrupy sweet as she poked her head in and smiled at him. “Is anyone ready? Sera wants to get started.”

“Aveline is,” Bethany called cheerfully, indicating her athlete with a flourish.

“Good,” Morrigan said, beckoning to Aveline. “Can you help Leliana get the dress arranged? Josephine is ready to drive her and Fenris both mad.”

Alone with Dorian, Alistair watched in the mirror as the tuxedo transforms him from a football player with too-big biceps and shoulders into...a gentleman. A _groom_. “Is this hard to do?” he asked in a small voice.

“Wardrobe? I feel obligated to say _yes_ , if for no other reason than my assistant will boot me out of a job otherwise.”

“Um, modeling?”

Dorian looked up, catching his nervous expression. “Modeling? Not with Hera. She’s quite good at it. She makes you feel like it’s real. You’ll see.”

“Has she been doing it long? She doesn’t look that old.”

Dorian laughed. “There’s only one man who could have told you that, but he’s long dead. Duncan just plucked her out of some department store while she was trying on prom gowns one day, and here she is. No one knows who she really is, where she’s really from, how old she is. It just adds to the mystic.” With a satisfied sound, he slapped Alistair on the ass and declared him _dressed._ “Now, off to the set with you.”

Alistair’s knees felt a little weak, but he took a deep breath and headed out into the warehouse. He passed by the bistro scene, where Aveline and a tall, stunning black woman were posed. Aveline was leaning forward, reaching for the woman, who was leaning back and looked aloof. The effect was one of yearning and distance; it somehow suited Aveline perfectly.

The next scene was the bedroom he’d passed by earlier. The Iron Bull, wearing nothing but a pair of _very_ snug briefs, winked his one eye at Alistair while a curvy, olive-skinned woman and a blonde man who looked a little wild around the edges were tossed casually across his lap and chest. By the dreamy, satisfied look on his face and the quick snaps from the burly, bear-like photographer, Iron Bull was in his version of the afterlife.

Alistair passed by the various scenes, trying to calm his nerves as he reached what seemed to be their wedding scene. It looked like a fancy sitting room, all done in pink and ivory and lace. His impression of it was that it was pretty, but the moment his eyes were drawn to her, draped across an antique pink couch and looking meaningfully at a white-haired photographer, something in his chest tightened. The lights all around her were so bright he could only wonder how she could see him. Closer, her eyes flashed to him, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. 

“Alistair,” she said softly and held a hand out to him. “Come here.”

He doesn’t know what it’s like to be married, and was only in love the one time before, but suddenly… _Dorian was right,_ he thinks, taking her hand and kneeling beside the couch. She makes a small sound- a gasp, maybe- when their hands touch; her eyes fly up to meet his, wide and surprised.

“Well well,” she murmured, rising up on her elbow to stare at him.

Throat dry, he arched an eyebrow at her, hoping it asks the question he couldn’t voice.

“Don’t tell me,” a dry, uninterested voice said from behind the bright lights. “This is love at first snap.”

A smile spread across Alistair’s face and he reached out to draw her closer, his lips hovering over hers. “Maybe.”


End file.
